UNALIVE

Mama, I can’t tell you the things that make me sleepless,

I can’t tell you the things that make me forget to eat.

Mama, how should I tell you that I feel useless?

A child who doesn’t deserve the quantity of love that you give.

Mama, I can’t look you in the eye and tell you that I feel empty.

 I am not one of those blessed with the audacity to tell you,

…

To tell you that I want to write,

But I can’t pick up the pen.

Mama, I have no audacity to look you in the eye and say,

When I am home, I feel alive,

then suddenly feel sorry for not turning out to be good as you had hoped.

Ma, I can’t tell you that when I am away from home, I feel unalive.

That the only time I feel alive is when I am with that somebody’s son,

And even then, I sometimes wonder if he’s here for a short, good time or a long, good time.

I promise, I didn’t notice when my soul got tangled to his soul’s thread.

One thing though,

Mama, you are right.

I know why I can’t sleep.

I know why I forget to eat.

Ma, they are things I could tell you, but I can’t tell them to your face.

They are things I could write to you, but only the above.

The remaining answers, I don’t know how to say or pen,

But don’t worry,

I decided that some issues must be forced,

So once in a while I can pick up the pen,

Then I am completely reminded of what it’s like to be alive.

Don’t worry,

I decided to live one day at a time.

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